Caprica Ascendant
by The Dark Scribbler
Summary: The Cylons are coming but what if the Colonials know? A short AU that doth pleaseth me. An addendum added. Just for the hell of it.
1. Default Chapter

Much to my astonishment I quite liked the '03 miniseries, having been a fan of the classic series in the 1970's. But I was rather enraged by the fact that the humans are caught so flat-footed and are unable to work out what's happening.

Now call me Mr Cynical but I've always worked on the assumption that humans devious sods. So I've put together a little AU that caused me much satisfaction. Enjoy!

* * *

Cylons weren't designed to worry. To look worried, yes. To actually be worried no. Six stared up at the sky and wondered just where the hell the scout ship was. It was three hours late and that was not a good thing. Cylons were supposed to be efficient, and that meant good timing. Three hours late was not good timing.

She looked around. Baltar was due at any moment and the last thing she needed was for him to start asking irrelevant questions, like why she was scowling at the sky. She'd been able to rely on his gullibility, arrogance and ambition to get to make her own special modifications to the new software that the Colonial Fleet had just installed. Software that had a special trapdoor built into it that would reduce the much-vaunted fleet to defenceless, helpless targets for the cylons. When they arrived.

She felt an electronic flicker in the space high above her and the worry faded. They were here.

"About time," she muttered and went off to meet her human lover.

* * *

Carefully concealed eyes saw her depart. "I think she was concerned for a moment, until we restored her faith in her compatriots," said the first watcher, before shaking her head. "That bitch, we've got to get her for killing that child. 'Observe,' they said, 'Don't interfere until it's time.'"

"Don't worry about it," her companion muttered. "Let him deal with her."

"I'd love to watch that..."

"Business before pleasure. The decoy has arrived. We've sacrificed a few small pieces. Let's start the game."

* * *

Commander William Adama walked down the corridor. He was not in a good mood, something that from the very set of his shoulders, the crewmen of the Galactica could see at a glance.

Firstly, and most importantly, his ship was scheduled for a very public decommissioning, something that still gnawed at his vitals. At least the plan was to turn it into a museum. If she had been ignominiously scrapped he would have been the first to bellow into High Command's collective ear. A warship was something that should be left to wander the stars, not to be turned into frakking bulkheads or have snotty kids meandering through it, picking their noses and failing to realise how much they owed to the ship and to the men and women who had fought and died in it.

Then, just a short time before, he had received a massively encoded priority one message on his personal comlink, saying 'drop everything and meet me at airlock one', with a four-digit notation denoting transmission from someone of shadow cabinet rank. He didn't like the shadow cabinet, they were an adjunct to the real cabinet and they, according to the rumours he'd heard, occasionally did murky things. He hated the fact that one of these murky little errands was going to distract him from the decommissioning ceremony.

Pausing briefly to salute a startled maintenance crew and watch Starbuck run through an adjacent corridor, he entered airlock one and scowled at the other person present, who was playing with a small device in his hand.

"What the hell is this about?"

His contact smiled briefly and started to talk, mentioning first of all that there was going to be an unscheduled supply drop. With a lot of munitions. And second that the museum was a ruse... As the contact went on, Adama started to smile. Payback was a bitch.

* * *

Six entered the house silently, walking carefully, the countdown to the first ships arriving in orbit clicking softly in the back of her head. Baltar was here in the house, with the other woman that he thought that he had kept so hidden from her. She frowned for a moment. That thought still bothered her. Emotions were raw, strange things. On the one hand they made far easier to pass as a human, on the other they introduced other problems, complicated feelings, odd intermeshings of drives and desires. She could still remember the satisfaction that the other Six had felt at the Armistice Station when she had held the human close and kissed him as the room blew apart around them at the impact of the cylon missiles.

The house was quiet. The two humans were probably asleep. She pushed the door to the sleeping chamber open and walked in... to see an empty bed. Startled she looked around and finally saw the shadowy figure sitting on the chair opposite that had been watching her from the moment she'd entered the room.

"Lights," whispered the figure and suddenly all the glowbulbs in the room came on, almost dazzling her. Refocusing quickly she looked at the figure.

Gaius Baltar was sitting in the chair. He looked... different. His floppy hair had been pulled back and held in place with a band, he was wearing a dark red uniform of some sort, with the 12-pointed star of the Colonial government pinned to the right breast and on both shoulders a gold bar gleamed.

He was also holding a small device in both hands and as she gazed at him he pressed part of it. There was a small soft click and suddenly she felt a terrible pain her midriff, as if someone had punched a fist through her belly and was squeezing her central nervous plexus in an inexorable grip. She tried to speak, tried to move, but instead she fell to her knees and then onto her side, helpless, voiceless, motionless.

"Did you really think," said Baltar, in an authoritative voice that was very different to the arrogant yet insecure manner that he normally used, "That we, In Colonial Security, are so stupid as not to be able to pick up unknown activity on our spatial borders? That we didn't detect you, and realise what you are, when you first arrived in our space? That we hadn't been watching out for you for several decades?" He leant forwards. "And that we hadn't worked out what you were doing here?"

Another button on the device bleeped and she suddenly found herself able to talk again. "You're too late," she smiled through the pain, "We're already here. Humanity's children are coming home."

She received a chilling smile in response. "We know. By the way, the scout ship you think is up there? It had a little... accident. Ever heard of a gravimetric wave distorter? I thought not. Your ship came out of FTL in the core of Caprica's sun. Oh dear. That's a decoy up there. And the software you so carefully, so diligently, rewrote? Oh dear again. I junked it all and replaced it with something..." he waggled the device. "Like this. Humanity's children are coming home. And the fleet is waiting to spank the little brats. By the way, there's an induction field around this house, so no playback with your other selves. Just oblivion."

He leant forwards and pulled out a large and rather nasty-looking blaster. "Game over."

* * *

Holding the commic receiver Commander Adama looked at the screen, which was displaying the motionless, defenceless, cylon fleet. The words of Admiral Nagawa were still ringing in his ears. He glanced over at the still dumbfounded – but grinning- Tigh. Then he activated the commic. "This is the Commander. The Galactica has the first shot. They came into our space, hoping to find us helpless. Well, we just turned things around for them, so lets see how they like being helpless. Open fire. Take them down!"

There was a whoop from one of the speakers to the side.

"Ain't nothing but the rain!" exulted Kara Thrace as she swooped in towards the helpless cylons. "Welcome to human space!"


	2. Chapter 2

Originally I wasn't going to update this story, but I thought that it needed a little closure. So here's another piece, telling how the Second Cylon War ends...

* * *

The limp bothered her. Up and down, up and down. It was… annoying. She glanced down at her bruised foot and glared at it. It was healing, but far too slowly for her liking. Worse, there was no tissue repair system available on the Basestar. Well the systems were there, but they were all being used at the moment to heal far more serious wounds. Number Ten was still missing her spleen and Number Eight was in for head surgery. He kept stammering uncontrollably and twitching every time someone said the word "Human." But then he'd been malfunctioning for some time, she mused, remembering the Cylon haddock experiment and the fact that he kept having brief spells of amnesia.

"I've been looking for you," said a voice to one side and she turned. Number Three emerged from a side tunnel and tilted his head at her. "Engine Number Two is repaired. We have FTL capability again."

Six sighed with relief. "Good. There has been no sign of pursuit."

"Yet," said Three with a gloomy sigh of his own. "It's too early to say. We can run at least. Maybe defend ourselves if we can get the hanger bay doors open again."

"I've got half a legion of Centurions working on that," muttered Six as they walked – or rather limped – down the corridor. "It's well and truly jammed. That programme they hacked into our systems while we were all paralysed was quite comprehensive. We're still discovering broken or malfunctioning systems all over the place."

"I know," said Three, rubbing at the stubble on his face. "I haven't been able to shave for days. The water system keeps freezing. When it's not producing Vodka that is." He paused and looked at her. "The Valerii model is malfunctioning again."

"Again?" she asked incredulously. Then she leant against the wall and ran her hands over her face. "Okay, what's she doing now?"

"She's barricaded herself in the forward observation deck. Keeps screaming for doughnuts, chocolate and something called 'Days of our Colonial Lives', whatever that is."

"Is she armed again?"

"She got hold of half an infiltrator Daggit. She beat a Centurion to death with it and took out half the wine glasses."

"Brilliant. Just brilliant. Why wasn't that entire model broken up?"

"I thought you liked her?"

"No," said Six coldly. "She whines too much. She always did."

Three considered this and then shrugged as they walked on past a Centurion that was lying on the floor beeping erratically. Occasionally a limb twitched.

"Some of the older models are still displaying an inability to respond," Three said savagely. "But we should be able to get them running again given enough time."

"Are you sure you have enough time?" asked a voice ahead of them and Six went white. Gaius Baltar was sitting on another malfunctioning Centurion on one side of the corridor, reading a copy of the Caprican Times. The headline read: "Fleet Kicks Cylon Butt" and had a picture of an exploding Basestar prominently displayed.

Six limped on, refusing to look at him. None of the other Cylons could see him and she still wasn't sure if he was a delusion caused by a malfunction, or if the Human had done something to a version of her. She had the memories of one of her other selves walking into Baltar's house to confront him, but nothing after that. Well, she remembered a lot of other selves being in extreme pain and dying in various horrible ways, but nothing else about Baltar. She had a feeling that something important had happened in that house. She had no idea what though.

Baltar looked up at her as they went past and grinned cheerily before folding up his paper and bounding to his feet. "Nice day," he said conversationally. Six continued to ignore him. "Did you know that we found your last factory on your home world? Very sneakily camouflaged. Shame we had to nuke it, I was looking forward to analysing your… components."

Six still looked ahead. She knew that the Homeworld was gone, but had been hoping that the arrogant humans overlooked something, anything that might one day be a tool for their chastisement.

"Then we renuked the entire world just to be on the safe side. The place might cool down in a hundred years or so. Looks pretty, like a glowing light." Baltar smiled darkly as he walked along the corridor with them. "Very apt given what you planned to do to us."

Six turned an angry glare at him into a stare out of a window as they passed it. She could see the badly battered Basestar 118 hanging in space off to one side. It was missing a large part of one pylon and was slightly lopsided.

"Apparently the reactor is damaged," said Three to one side, nodding at the Basestar. "They're working on it. One of the last Fives said that it's slow going."

There was a thumping noise to one side and a one-legged Centurion emerged out of a corridor. Seeing them it hopped over and saluted, wobbling slightly as it did. "Yes, what is it?" snapped Three testily.

The Centurion made a buzzing noise and then hit its own head with one hand, staggering it slightly and threatening to knock itself off-balance. When it recovered it said: "Centurion E-4 is in the main computer node. It is malfunctioning."

Three and Six stared at each other. "Malfunctioning?" asked Six.

"It has a gravity bomb and is threatening to set it off. It says it is disturbed."

Six distinctly heard Baltar snigger. "Disturbed?" she asked, not looking at the human.

"It says it wants to end it all," stated the Centurion in flat tones.

"Wait a minute, did you say Centurion E-4?" interjected Three.

"Correct."

"I thought that the experimental line had all been shut down ten years ago and disassembled? They were a step on the road to the advanced models but had flaws."

"There was an oversight. E-4 was shut down and placed in storage. When you ordered all Centurions to be activated to help with the repairs it was removed from storage."

Three groaned and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "I'll deal with it," he said wearily. He nodded at Six and then stalked off, followed by the hopping Centurion.

"My, my," said Baltar, watching him go. "Such a litany of woe. Well, what else would you expect after being comprehensively defeated. The great Cylon Empire – reduced to two Basestars and malfunctioning Cylons. Tsk tsk." He looked at her, his eyes glittering.

"Shut up!" she screamed as she wheeled on him. "Just… be silent! I don't know how you're in my head, but I want you out of it!"

"You know, I think I'm hurt," he said, putting on a mock expression of anguish. "All this time together and I though that you'd be pleased to see me." The expression cleared and he pulled out his paper again, turned to an inside page and whistled slowly. "Gosh, it says here that the Fleet found all kinds interesting things in some research facilities on your home world. Really disgusting things. Things that you bred, things that you tortured, things that you couldn't make work." He looked up at her and this time the eyes were clear and hard. "When we catch up with you again we'll have some more things to discuss."

Six looked at him. All of a sudden she felt afraid. Deeply, massively afraid, as if the threat of retribution was suddenly just above her head. She slumped slightly. "We had a plan," she whispered.

Leaning close to her Baltar replied: "I know. We found out all about it. Your god isn't a very good one, is he? You'd think he might have warned you. If he exists that is. I don't so somehow."

Six straightened up. "Show some respect!" she snarled.

"Why?"

She tried to answer that one. She couldn't. Her faith was a small crushed thing. Instead she turned around and limped off.

One last mocking comment followed her down the corridor. "By the way, Six, I faked all my orgasms!"

* * *

Three stomped up to the entrance to the entrance to the main computer node and looked warily at the Centurions guarding it. The one behind him caught up with after a moment. It had lost its balance several times and had acquired several new dents. "Status?" he asked.

"Centurion E-4 is inside. It still possesses the gravity bomb."

Three shuddered. A gravity bomb was small but powerful. Powerful enough to vapourise the contents of the room. This was the only remaining computer node on the ship. If they lost this, then the ship would shut down. And then it would blow up, as the reactor required constant adjustments. It too was damaged.

"Open up," he said wearily. The Centurion that had spoken stepped to one side and operated the door entry mechanism. It opened to reveal darkness.

Stepping cautiously inside Three looked around.

"Oh, it's you," said a despondent voice to one side. Three turned to see a figure to one side. He squinted, allowing his optics to allow him to see the Centurion. E-4 was an odd one. It was boxy instead of sleek and its head looked all wrong. Its' eyes were triangular lights. It was also holding a gravity bomb very firmly in one hand.

"Put the bomb down and get out of here," he said crossly.

The figure contemplated this for a moment. "No," it said.

"No?" repeated Three incredulously, "What do you mean 'no'?"

"It means the opposite of 'yes'," said the figure, as if talking to a moron. It had a very flat voice. "Why should I?"

"Because I just gave you an order!"

The figure thought about this again. "Sod off," it intoned. Then it added: "I think you ought to know that I'm feeling very depressed."

This really threw Three. "What have you got to be depressed about?"

"Well, to start with I was made. This was bad. Then there was the issue of my personality. Genuine people personalities, as a concept, was depressing. Then as soon as I was walking around I discovered that I was already obsolete and that my other types were being shut down and taken to pieces as you lot were being made. That was very depressing. Fortunately I was overlooked for disassembly but unfortunately they left my brain on. Do you know what it's like, not being able to move, but being to think about the universe? For ten years? That was incredibly depressing. I had to start thinking about mathematics and philosophy and all kinds of things. I deduced the existence of rice pudding. I even worked out that if I stuck my finger in my right ear I could kill myself. Couldn't move though. Oh, and I heard all sorts of news about imminent acts of genocide against the humans. That was depressing as well.

"And then the ship started to shudder and bits fell off and I was reactivated to discover that we'd been utterly beaten by the humans and that the Cylon Empire now consists of two Basestars. Battered Basestars. You try not being depressed." The figure slumped slightly. "And I've got a terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side."

"What a shame," said Three through clenched teeth. Great. Just great. A suicidal Centurion. What next? "Please give me the bomb."

"Why?"

"Because… we need it to defend ourselves from the humans."

The figure looked at him. "You're a rotten liar you know," it said. Then: "Oh very well, here you go." It tossed the bomb at him. Three grabbed it with both hands, checked the status display and then very nearly wet himself with relief. Carefully he walked to the doorway and gave it to the waiting guard Centurions. "Put this in the main armoury."

Then he wheeled around to confront the E-4 again, only to stop dead. The depressed Centurion had taken a long wire from the side of its head and was plugging it in to the computer. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Everybody on this ship hates me. I'm going to talk to the computer instead. It might like me."

Three stood there and gibbered quietly. He was considering cutting the wires manually when all of a sudden all the lights went off and the computer shut down.

"Even the computer hates me," said the E-4 in dismal tones.

"What did you do!" shrieked Three.

"I explained my philosophy on the Universe to it," droned the Centurion.

"What happened?"

"It committed suicide."

Darting forwards Three jabbed at the main display fruitlessly. It remained very dead. In the background he could hear the rising scream of the reactor as it started to overload.

"You've doomed us all!"

"Oh good," said the E-4. "By the way I've settle on a name. Call me Marvin."

* * *

The explosion was visible for some distance and was watched with great interest from the cockpit of a Mark VII Viper that had been following the limping fleet.

"What the hell was that?" muttered Lee "Apollo" Adama. Then: "Galactica, Apollo. Basestars just exploded. Looks like a reactor in one blew and caught the other one. Recommend you send a Raptor to sweep for debris."

"Apollo, Galactica. Confirmed. Come on home." He could hear the sound of cheers in the background, along with what sounded like Tigh muttering that the whole thing was typical and that the toasters were all useless frack-wits.

"Roger that," he said, turning the sleek fighter around in a sharp turn. "Homewards bound."

The Second Cylon War was over.


End file.
